SEAL Defender (Brothers In Arms Book 1)
Page 1
SEAL Defender
Brothers In Arms Book One
Leslie North
Contents
Brothers In Arms
SEAL Defender
Blurb
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
End of SEAL Defender
Thank You!
Sneak Peek
Brothers In Arms
SEAL Defender
SEAL Protector
SEAL Guardian
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, MARCH 2017
Copyright © 2017 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing.
No part of this book may be reproduced, published, distributed, displayed, performed, copied or stored for public or private use in any information retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any mechanical, photographic or electronic process, including electronically or digitally on the Internet or World Wide Web, or over any network, or local area network, without written permission of the author.
Cover Design by LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations
www.relaypub.com
Blurb
Mark Aleki Rogers left the Navy SEALs behind, but he found another use for his special skills. He and his fellow “Brothers-in-Arms” now run an intense boot camp that trains civilians to survive extreme situations. Mark’s size is intimidating, but the half-Samoan surfer is an eternal optimist. A suspicious string of suicides among SEALs, however, has Mark convinced it’s murder. He’s determined to get to the bottom of it…quietly. If he doesn’t, a murderer may go free.
Reporter Geneva Rios has come to the California coast looking for a story. The recent SEAL suicides are connected to the Brothers-in-Arms, and Geneva wants to know more. The interview she’s hoping for, though, comes at a price. The smoking-hot SEAL won’t talk unless she completes his training course. If she can survive Mark’s audition, she’ll have the angle she needs. Spending more time with Mark has its own perks, but for the exotic brunette, exposing the Navy SEALs is more than just a story…it’s personal.
As the heat between them reaches its boiling point, the pair puts more than their heads together. But with their own lives in danger, can they catch a killer before it’s too late?
Mailing List
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1
Mark Aleki Rogers rode out the last crests of the giant wave all the way to the shallows, murmuring quietly, “Ola ma le alofa fua.”
Live and love freely.
Yep. That was his motto. Or, at least as freely as the events of the last few months would allow. Two funerals in six months. There was definitely something wrong.
Sure, there were guys who came back from combat so bruised and battered emotionally that they couldn’t cope and killed themselves, but the two guys who had worked for him as instructors at his security firm, Brothers In Arms, hadn’t fit that bill. Not at all.
In fact, Mark couldn’t shake the strong suspicion that they weren’t suicides at all.
Too many things didn’t add up.
He jumped off his customized Proctor Mendia Surfboard, a gift to himself last year and one he had yet to get enough use of, and waded to the shore. Looking at his watch, he sighed.
“Leila is waiting,” he reminded himself, as he looked back toward the ocean.
He’d love to stay out here the rest of the afternoon and catch more waves, for the water was the only place, he could live completely in the moment these days but his sister, Leila, was expecting him. She’d said she wanted help unloading a new shipment of ice cream for her seaside diner, but Mark knew from long experience that whenever Leila asked for his assistance, it was never that simple.
“I hope this new ice cream is good, sis. What am I saying, all ice cream is good.” He chuckled at his own comment knowing that he wouldn’t be heading back out to the surf anytime soon not when family needed him.
In the Samoan culture, you did anything for family. Family came first. Always. Aiga was the Samoan word for family and one his mother had emblazoned on his and his sister’s mind from an earlier age. Now, it was part of his DNA, just another facet of who he was, which was why he didn’t mind helping out in the restaurant.
His mom always blamed his inquisitive nature and high moral standards on his island heritage as well, but Mark knew better. Those skills had come directly from his time as a Navy SEAL. Honor, integrity, fortitude. If Hell Week didn’t drill those into a guy, nothing would.
That was another reason he was suspicious about those deaths.
Taking one’s own life was a sign of hopelessness.
And rule number one for SEALs—there was always hope.
He planned to do some nosing around into the cases later to put his own mind at ease. He’d have to do it on the down low though. No sense drawing law enforcement’s attention at this point. Not until he’d gathered the information, he needed.
After one last, longing look back at the excellent surf rolling in off the California coast, Mark tucked his board beneath his arm and started to jog the half mile to his sister’s place. Sure, he was still dripping wet and covered in salt and sand, Leila would most likely give him hell for it too, but hey. After serving his country faithfully as a SEAL officer for eight years and now as a busy small business owner himself, she’d have to take what she got. The afternoon sun beat down on his shaved head and made the slight shadow of dark stubble on his scalp itch. Yeah, a shower would’ve been good, but duty called.
Wearing a pair of neon blue men’s surf shorts and nothing else, he ran down the beach. Mark couldn’t help admiring the stunning beauty of the landscape. Sheer dark cliffs lined the sunbaked sand and jagged rocks jutted from the ocean waters. A colony of sea lions basked on a shoal, honking, grunting and generally causing a ruckus. The air smelled of salt, decaying seaweed and fish and if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself in Samoa instead of California. Not that he’d ever visited his mother’s homeland, but it was certainly on his bucket list someday.
Mark rounded another cliff, and then slowed his pace as two familiar figures approached from the other direction. What the hell? This was supposed to be his day off from the office.
2
The shaggy blond guy raised a hand in greeting. Jace Stevens, also an ex-Navy SEAL and one of Mark’s business partners, was a bit younger and shorter than he was, but the man was a mechanical genius; never met an engine or piece of equipment he couldn’t fix, which made him extremely handy to have around even if he was an enigma. Who the hell grew up in Wyoming yet hated hors
es and cows?
“Where the hell you been, man?” Jace demanded.
“Surfing,” Mark called back. Like it wasn’t obvious. When he wasn’t working or helping his family, you could find Mark in the ocean. “What’s up?”
“You look like shit, that’s what’s up, bro,” Vann Highrider, Mark’s other business partner, called out. The three of them had served in the same security unit together in the Middle East. After the military, they’d remained friends and had started Brothers In Arms to train civilians in the same tactics they’d learned from the military. Vann was half Cherokee and all attitude, looking like he walked straight off some old western movie set with his long dark hair and penetrating dark stare, though these days he could pass for just about any nationality. Another useful asset. Plus, he was also the best-damned tracker Mark had ever met. You need someone or something found, Vann was your man.
“Leila sent us to find you.” Vann gave him a disapproving once-over appraisal. “She’s not going to be happy.”
“What? Why?” Mark slowed to a walk beside his buddies and checked his watch again. “I’m not that late. And who died and appointed you two my babysitters, huh?”
At his poor choice of words, given the recent deaths, all three cringed.
“Sorry,” Mark said.
Vann muttered something under his breath Mark didn’t quite catch while Jace just snorted.
“You done looking into what happened with Rick and Jon yet?” Jace asked him.
“Not yet.” Mark slicked a hand over his damp scalp. “Plan to stop by the courthouse later to see copies of the death certificates. If I turn on the charm, maybe I can get that new little clerk on staff to show them to me without putting in a formal request.”
“Charm, huh?” Jace asked, one brow raised.
Mark shrugged. “Figured I’d offer her a free hot fudge sundae.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Jace laughed.
Vann shook his head, his lips compressed. “Nice.”
Together they walked up the beach to a small-whitewashed café with a deck open toward the Pacific. His sister had started Scoops Café and Ice Cream once her kids were in school to have something to keep her busy while her husband worked. That had been five years ago. Now, business was booming and her tiny diner was packed with tourists taking the scenic drive up Highway 1 to San Francisco. Today though, the tables outside were oddly empty. As he approached, Mark’s suspicions grew. Yep. Something was off here. “Why did Leila call you guys? There can’t be that much ice cream to move.”
The guys exchanged a look, one Mark had seen before when they’d served together in Afghanistan. It usually meant Look Out, Danger Ahead. But they were home. They were safe. They and their business were all but worshipped in tiny Ortega, California, a little coastal town of less than two thousand citizens. Hell, Brothers In Arms Security practically kept Ortega on the map, for Christ’s sake. They brought in a constant influx of travelers to the area for their classes, along with the money those same travelers spent in the area.
Frowning, Mark stowed his surfboard in the sand beside the restaurant and then climbed the wooden stairs up to the deck and tromped inside—barefoot, still wet and sand-encrusted—and squinted into the silent dark interior. Yeah. Things were so not right here. His military-trained instincts went on high alert. The place was always buzzing with conversation, food, and fun. But today…
“Surprise!” Leila shouted, springing up from behind the lunch counter. Soon cheers erupted around Mark as townsfolk and tourists alike clapped and shouted and smacked him on the back in congratulations. Their mom, Sefina, still pretty and spry even at sixty-five, walked out of the kitchen with a cake lit with twenty-eight candles, singing, “Happy Birthday”.
“Smile,” Vann growled, nudging Mark hard in the side, warning flashing in his dark eyes. “Leila went to a lot of trouble for this.”
“Yeah, man.” Jace grinned. “Most people are happy to have a party thrown in their honor.”
Mark wanted to be happy, honest he did. But the whole damned thing just cut too close to the bone. His sister of all people knew better than to keep secrets from him. He hated secrets.
Leila walked up to them, her dark brown gaze sparkling with anger as it darted from Jace to Vann and then back again. “Jeez, you guys couldn’t clean him up first?”
“Hey, you said to get him here.” Vann crossed his arms, his expression flat. “Here he is.”
“Seriously, this is about as clean as you’re going to get him on his day off, LeLi,” Jace added. “You know he’s practically Aquaman during his free time.”
Mark glanced around at all the happy people, all the festive streamers and decorations, but all he could think of was the last birthday surprise he’d received. He’d just turned ten and his dad had gotten him a new surfboard, top of the line and the latest design. The thing had to cost at least a month’s salary all gleaming white in the sun with lines hand carved to slice the water like a scalpel and catch even the harshest waves.
Except it didn’t cost his dad anything because he’d stolen it.
Surprise!
Secrets led to nothing but heartbreak. Secrets were the devil’s own work. Or his dad’s.
In Mark’s mind, the devil and his dad were one and the same.
Without a word, Mark pushed his way through the crowd and out the front door into the parking lot, ignoring his sister’s calls for him to stay and have cake. He needed to be alone, needed some air and space to clear his head. Needed to get his shit together before he faced the inevitable wrath of his family over his abrupt departure from the party inside.
“Not into the whole surprise party scene, huh?” a female voice said.
He halted in his tracks and scanned the area. There, next to a black SUV with the hood up stood a girl. A very pretty girl, Mark noted as he moved closer. He cocked his chin toward her vehicle. “Having some trouble? And how’d you know about my party?”
“No. No trouble.” She slammed her hood down and wiped her hands on a rag before extending one. “I’m Geneva, by the way. Geneva Rios. I heard them yell “surprise” inside. I put two and two together. Didn’t know the party was for you though.”
“Nice to meet you, Geneva Rios.” Mark shook her hand then perused her from head to toe. Dark red hair, tanned skin, full lips, and hazel eyes that leaned more toward green than brown. She stood a good foot shorter than his own six-foot-two height and looked maybe twenty-four, twenty-five tops. Curves in all the right places. Her smile though, wide and sweet, with just a hint of naughty, was what really drew him in. God, he loved a woman with a wicked smile.
“Yep. Today’s my birthday,” he said, still staring at those lips of hers.
“Really?” She raised a brow. “And here I forgot your present.”
If Mark didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting. But they’d just met and he was cautious enough not to fall for every gorgeous woman in his path, no matter how tempting. Besides, for all he knew, Vann and Jace set this situation up just to keep him on the property.
Wouldn’t be the first time they’d pulled some shit like that.
“Sure you don’t need help?” He might be suspicious as hell, but he was still a gentleman.
“No.” She stared at him a moment too long, then turned back to her car. “Just checking my oil. Why don’t you like birthdays?”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m an inquisitive girl,” she said. “You ex-military?”
Hackles up, Mark crossed his arms. Several reporters had descended on tiny Ortega, California after Jon’s suicide, most of them looking for the next hot, salacious headline to sell their story. Mark had refused to speak to any of them. He wasn’t about to start now either, regardless of how attractive said reporter might be. “Does it matter?”
Geneva pointed to one of the tattoos on his right bicep, an eagle holding a trident, with an anchor and a pistol in front. “Navy SEAL?”
&nb
sp; He didn’t answer.
“Right.” Geneva winked then tossed her rag aside and placed her hands on her hips. “I probably wouldn’t want to pledge my allegiance to them either after all the shitty stuff they’ve done.”
Both offended and more intrigued than he cared to admit, Mark stepped back and shook his head. “Tell me why the hell you’re really here before I evict you from the premises, Ms. Rios. If that’s even your real name.”
“Yes, it’s my real name. Would you pick that as an alias?” She gave him a deadpan look and crossed her arms, thrusting her breasts higher beneath the scoop neck of her tank top. “I’m here to see if you’ll let me interview you.”
Bingo. He decided to play dumb to see how far she’d take this. “For what?”
“I’m a reporter for the National Tribune. I’m covering the recent epidemic of SEAL suicides. You know, those guys who get discharged, come home, then off themselves for no apparent reason.” A flicker of dark emotion passed through her pretty hazel eyes before he could identify it. “Figured since you knew the last two victims personally, you might be able to give me some insight as to why they killed themselves.”
Cursing under his breath, Mark turned away. To say he’d known the last two victims was an understatement. They were like part of his family. They’d served in Mark’s SEAL unit in Kabul and his soul still ached every day that they were gone. War brought men together and created bonds stronger than almost anything else did. The last thing he wanted to do was dishonor his fallen comrades’ memories by spilling his guts to some scandal rag with the worst reputation for only chasing the next big profit headline. “No interviews.”
“They were your employees at one time though, right?” Geneva trailed along beside Mark as he headed back toward the diner’s entrance, a small digital recorder in her hand. Going back inside wasn’t ideal, but it was better than staying out here and dodging her questions. He didn’t answer her.